On Dark Wings, and Dark Knights: Book 2
by Damien Nathaniel Wren
Summary: Quiverwing inherits "The Mantle of the Duck" as she steps up to face the newest threat to St. Canard...
1. Adulteration

On Darkwings, and Dark Knights: Book 2

Damien Nathaniel Wren

Chapter 1: Adulteration

_Author's Note: This story picks up where the original "On Darkwings, and Dark Knights" crossover leaves off. If you haven't read it, you may want to start there before continuing even if only to see why Batman ends up wearing a tu-tu. Have fun! _

_-"D"_

* * *

Dear Diary,

It's been 7 years since Dad – I mean "Darkwing Duck" – took on his first big case … 7 years since he rescued me from Taurus Bulba. 7 years since I started to call the house at 537 Avian Way "home".

St. Canard has changed. The crime rate has dropped considerably. Super-villains the likes of Negaduck,and the Steerminator no longer prowl its streets, and FOWL seems but a memory. There is still a place for those like Darkwing – the neighboring Duckburg still has its fair share of problems and Gizmoduck can't be everywhere, but mostly it's about the use of superior methodologies in solving the more difficult crimes, and bringing in the more stubborn perpetrators.

Having retired, Darkwing Duck is no longer St. Canard's defender – Quiverwing is. Although Dad won't talk about it – and Negaduck can't – about 5 years after he began his career as Darkwing something happened. It's almost like he just … "snapped". He became darker, harsher – more sinister.

As Darkwing he was no longer distracted by his ego. He had a mission.

And by God, he completed it.

The near-death of Negaduck should have told the tale – it most certainly was the beginning of it. The paramedics resuscitated Negaduck 3 times on the way to the hospital – and it turns out twice more after he arrived. He spent months in traction, and when Negaduck's trial came 7 months later he was _still_ being fed through a tube.

It did little for his case, though. The jury quickly reached a guilty verdict on all counts, and Negaduck was sentenced to so many years his great-great-grandchildren will grow-and-die in Max Security.

Not long after Negaduck's … incarceration … Liquidator fell. Having trapped him in a giant, water-sealed glass tank Darkwing turned on a series of high-powered heat lamps – evaporating him completely. By the time he cooled, and re-condensed he was in the hands of the St. Canard PD.

I'll never forget the disappointed look on his face as I asked him how he knew Liquidator would be able to put himself back together again. He scowled, and mounted the Ratcatcher – drove away. To this day I still don't know for sure.

The rest fell, too. He lured Megavolt to St. Canard Power and Light and let him drain the whole city, then dunked him in water. Already mentally unstable, Megavolt endured severe brain damage from the shock. His catatonic, vegetating body was ruled incapable of standing trial, and committed to the local asylum under special guard.

The Steerminator was his next target – and Darkwing took HIM personally. The battle between him and the former Taurus Bulba was dramatic, and destructive. Darkwing used what he referred to as "Equalizer Charges" - something he said he learned about from watching footage of "The Bat" as he battled Quackerjack's insane little toy during the incident in St. Canard Stereo and Speaker.

Developed by Gyro Gearloose on "special request" the miniature, shaped-charges worn on the fists like brass knuckles ripped through the cyborg's metal body like tin-foil – eventually leaving mangled, and twisted Steerminator parts all over the battlefield. There was enough left to stand trial – but barely.

It was the brutality of the encounter with Steerminator that left St. Canard – nay – the entire country reeling in shock, and terror. Footage of the smoking, charred, and broken husks that used to serve as the cyborg's legs was transmitted all over the country, while DuckSpace Video temporarily carried partial footage of the battle – Darkwing straddling the grounded, and legless Bulba as he beat the cyborg in the head – his final 2 explosive charges going off during the attack.

After that … Darkwing was branded as serious a threat as those he fought against, and the witch-hunt was on. He became Public Enemy #1. The government placed a $1 Million bounty on his head, and every law enforcement agency in the country was set on the lookout. Even S.H.U.S.H. summarily expelled him from the organization, and promised him that if he ever donned hat-and-cape as Darkwing again they would hunt him to the very ends of the earth.

So Darkwing disappeared. I don't blame him. I don't blame THEM, either though. After seeing what happened, the remaining agents of F.O.W.L. disappeared fearing Darkwing's vengeance may fall on their heads as well. The sight of Taurus' cybernetic body chopped up, and char-broiled like steak cutlets from some domesticated steer at a butcher's left no-one willing to face Darkwing as Judge, Jury, and Executioner.

And Dad's never been the same, since either.

He still loves me, and Morgana. He's tender, and affectionate, and an excellent Dad! But something's lost … some certain … "spark." When the Police needed help some time back, and I reprised my childhood identity as "The Quiverwing Quack" I think I saw it awake a little. I expected him to object – as he always does. He just looked at me – his eyes tired – and made me promise to bring his little girl back in one piece.

Honker has become part of his own story. As an inventor he's top-notch, and provides Quiverwing with everything she needs in her own fight against crime. But he's also become the unofficial head of a large corporation – one that put "Whiffle Boy" in it's place and came out shining.

At the end of our encounter with The Bat and The Clown Honker found a card The Clown dropped. He took it home and examined it and – as near as I can figure – learned how to use it to control electronics by reading signals from the brain through the skin. He developed a video game using it and was an overnight success – millions pouring into his trust account practically overnight. Sales were through the roof, and Whiffle Boy became virtually unheard of.

Honker's corporation was king.

As a gift, he applied the technology to a carefully designed guidance system for my arrows. Every arrow I fire responds to my mental commands – allowing me to make small corrections as I need to in-flight. Needless to say my aim was already deadly – now I can't miss.

As for Launchpad? He's Dad's best friend. They often spend time talking about old times, and reminding me how rambunctious I was. Fishing trips, hanging out, whatever. When Launchpad's not flying Mr. McDuck off to some exotic location he's here, keeping Dad's spirits up. He even still calls Dad "DW."

In fact, it was he and Honker that worked together to build "The Firefly" - my motorcycle. Super-fast, highly maneuverable, and exceedingly quiet it uses some kind of alternate thrust engine. I don't understand how it works, of course, but it causes the tail-end of the motorcycle to glow brightly like the tail of a firefly – which is how the bike got its name.

It has one of Honker's "Cybernetic" control rigs, too allowing me to pilot it hands-free while firing off arrows, or even as a remote-control to bring it to my location. It takes concentration to do it – but I get better at it every time I practice.

And I practice every day...

* * *

"... and you must be Madoka. Herbert Muddlefoot the 3rd, at your service."

Honker bowed graciously as he took the hand of the new Japanese exchange student – a beautiful Ryukyu Flying Fox – and gave it a gentle kiss. Looking her again in the eye he smiled gently.

"But you can call me ..."

"BONKERS!" A resounding *WHAP!* echoed through the hall as Tank smacked Honker on the back of the head – Honker stumbling forward from the blow. "Here." Tank takes a jock strap, and hangs it over Honker's nose, stretching it to its limit and letting it snap back onto Honker's bill – knocking him down – before dumping a smelly stack of over-worn gym clothes on him. "Make sure these get into the laundry when you get home!"

Tank looked down at his younger brother who was adjusting his glasses as he again rose to his feet. "Pathetic." he mumbled, then turned his attention to the new transfer. "And who my lovely might YOU be?"

She giggled, and replied softly – her accent gently seasoning her words. "Madoka."

Tank smiled a smile he'd practiced oh so many times, to oh so many women – a smile he knew never failed to make women feel like they were the first to see it. You could almost see the mischievous spark in his eye. "How would you like a _real_ man to show you around?"

Madoka smiled big as her cheeks grew red. "I … I would like that. Very much."

* * *

"Hey, Honker! Gotcha doing laundry?"

Honker looked up from his task to find Gosalyn leaning against the door frame with her backpack over one shoulder, and skateboard in hand.

"Uhm … yeah. Tank asked me to ..."

"TANK!" Gosalyn interrupted. "Tell me you're kidding."

Honker hung his head.

"Sometimes, Honker I really don't get you. You can stand up to the greatest evil St. Canard has ever known, and yet _Tank_ still has you grasped firmly by the cojones! Hasn't working with Darkwing taught you _anything_?"

"But, Gosalyn!"

"It's beyond time, Honker. You _need_ to stand up to your brother. If you don't do it now, you're _never_ going to earn his respect! And it's not just Tank! With him as their quarterback nearly the entire football time has dialed in on that 'Kick Me' sign on your back. To make things worse, Bo String and his crew are all over you when the football team _isn't_."

Honker sighed. "It seems a lot easier than it is, Gosalyn."

"If you can fight Negaduck, you can stand up to Tank, and Bo."

Gosalyn sighed, her demeanor softening greatly as she propped her skateboard against the door. As she approached Honker she smiled gently – hugging him. Honker was stiff as his pulse began to quicken, and he felt the heat on his cheeks.

"You've been my best friend for more than 7 years, Honker. I just hate to watch you go through this. Promise me you'll do what you can?"

Honker looked Gosalyn in the eye for the first time – Gosalyn sensing the hidden note of panic swirling within the tiny pools of confusion. She giggled in an attempt to relax him a little.

"Believe me, it won't be nearly as scary as you imagine."

Gosalyn picked up her skateboard and walked out of the laundry room without breaking her stride – Honker watching the gentle swing of her hips as she made her exit. Closing the lid on Tank's laundry, Honker sighed. Sure he had accomplished a lot fighting the forces of evil, but she and Darkwing were always there. He knew he had nothing to worry about.

This, though … this was different. The only way he could face Tank, and Bo was _alone_ – and that terrified him. Tank was twice his size – if not bigger – and had no compunction against giving him a good, brotherly beat-down. And Bo … well … like father, like son is all he could say.

Besides, it wasn't _Tank's_ respect he really wanted. Bo's either. It was _Gosalyn's_. But unfortunately these days even that was going to come at a price. Honker just had no idea how he was going to _pay_ it.

Honker set the washer for an extra-large load, and started it on its longest cycle. Leaning his back to it he let out yet another sigh.

"Just give it up." he told himself. "It's never going to happen! Not..." Honker interrupted himself. "Not unless I…" Honker smiled as he put away the detergent. "Not unless."

* * *

Authors Notes:

Darkwing Duck, and all related properties are the property of Walt Disney/Marvel Comics and used here without permission. Batman, and all related properties are property of DC Comics and also used without permission. Batman was created by Bob Kane.

The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: among them "use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied" (U.S. Copyright Office, Factsheet on fair use of copyrighted works, .). It is under such authority I proceed.


	2. Rivalry

On Dark Wings and Dark Knights: Book 2

Damien Nathaniel Wren

Chapter 2: "Rivalry"

"Hey, Gosalyn! You heading out to tonight's game?" Lizzy looked upwards at Gosalyn expectantly, her green eyes wide as she clutched her books tightly to her chest.

Gosalyn removed her helmet from her hard-bag, and placed it under her shoulder before replying. "Of course!" Smiling broadly, she gave a gracious bow. "Transportation and admission provided courtesy of one Deuteronomy Duck."

"Deuter … " Lizzy's eyes – almost impossibly – opened wider as she squealed with excitement – Gosalyn locking the case. "As in, Deuter … I mean … of 'The Splashing Pumpkins' Deuter?" Lizzy swooned. "Oh my God, Gosalyn! You're kidding, right?"

Gosalyn shook her head. "I have my dress picked out, and everything."

Lizzy let out a contented sigh. "Can you imagine?" Lizzy clutched her books tighter, and cast her eyes dreamily skyward. "A classic match-up between two sworn enemies: the St. Canard Cannibals versus Duckburg High's Marauding Mallards. And all while sharing popcorn, and soda with … well … _him_!"

Lizzy let out another squeal as if to punctuate.

Gosalyn smiled, zipping her black, mandarin-collared leather riding jacket as she gently shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

Gosalyn threw a leg over her motorcycle and – taking a deep breath – checked the time on its display. "And – speaking of time – I don't have much left before Mr. Duck shows up." Starting her bike, Gosalyn turned back to Lizzy as she kicked up her stand. "See you tonight at the game?"

Lizzy smiled – anxious for a chance to meet one of her musical idols. "Definitely!"

Putting on her helmet, Gosalyn checked the parking lot to make sure everything was clear before walking her 1000cc Street-Bike out of its parking space. A quick check of her engine stats, and a torque of the throttle later she was gone.

* * *

A messenger boy – an apparent duck/chicken hybrid with white feathers and a red messenger uniform – approached an unassuming home. Standing tall, and proud he adjusted his glasses and – smiling slightly, reached up and took hold of the Duckburg home's door-knocker, then swung it resolutely. TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

He waited…

"Yeah, just a sec!"

A crash could be heard in the house, followed by a series of heavy footsteps before the latch was undone, and the door flung wide open. Built like a linebacker, the beagle's demeanor was harsh – like he was definitely looking for a fight.

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm a messenger with the Duckburg Courier Service. I have a priority package for a … uhm … Mr. Three?"

"Yeah, I'm Three. _Give it to me!_"

The messenger's slight smile turned into a wide grin as he lunged at the neck of the unsuspecting beagle – quickly crushing his throat and tackling him to the ground. Working quickly, he turned Three on his side – reaching into his pocket to produce a pen-like device.

"Thank you, Sir. Now if you don't mind, _I'm_ just going to need to 'sign' … _here_."

* * *

"Gosalyn?"

Gosalyn blushed at her date's reaction as he admired her in her green dress. From her ears dangled delicate gold chains supporting two beautiful Tahitian pearls – a perfect compliment to the equally delicate gold chain around her neck bearing a gold dolphin charm with a Tahitian pearl at its center.

The dress itself was shoulder less with an elegant, sweetheart neckline chosen to enhance her pert "b-cup" as the dress hugged her waist, then fanned out to enhance her hips until it ended just above her knees. A simple, gold tennis bracelet and a pair of strappy gold heels completed the ensemble.

"You're … beautiful."

"Thank you, Deuteronomy. Shall we move on?"

"Oh!" He stumbled. "Of course!" Opening the door to his Town car he watched as Gosalyn carefully entered – her long, red hair flowing freely behind her. He let out an involuntary sigh before joining her in the back seat of the car, and closing the door.

"Ready, Gosalyn?"

She nodded.

"Duckworth?"

The driver spared a moment to look into the back seat. "Welcome back, Ms. Mallard." he said, then started the car. "To the game, Sir?"

"To the game, Duckworth."

"Right away, then."

* * *

"TANK!"

The doors to the locker room slammed against the tiled walls with a resounding "THRUNK!" as Three burst into the room – temper flaring. A small entourage of players from Duckburg's Marauding Mallards stepped in behind him.

"Where _are_ you? _Scared_?"

Tank stood up, still shirtless. A towel was draped over his shoulders – which he held at each end – a smug expression on his face. "Terrified." he monotoned.

Another player from the St. Canard Cannibals chirped in. "Ya freakin' M&M's."

Tank looked towards his teammate, and laughed. "Oh yeah! _Melt_ in your mouth, _knot_ in your hand?" He turned to Three. "You know what _that's_ like, _right_?"

Three lunged at Tank – only to be slammed back one-handedly by the coach for the St. Canard Cannibals. "Save it for the field, Three. _And get out of __my__ locker room!_"

Tank smiled.

Three threw the Coach a defiant look, and turned back to Tank. "Don't think this is over, 'Tankard'! I'll rip apart your entire offensive line if I have to!"

The Coach intervened – more forceful this time. "On the _field_, Gentleman!"

Three turned to the coach – still defiant. "Yeah, I was just leaving, anyways." Three took a moment more to glare at Tank before moving on. "C'mon, Mallards. Let's leave these retards alone. We've got a game to win."

* * *

The bright lights, the cheering, the live music … Gosalyn marveled a bit as she took it all in. It wasn't her first school football game – or even her first time watching the time-tested rivalry of St. Canard and Duckburg duke it out. It was something that – every time she watched – she was amazed to see, though. Something about it was just … exciting.

"Popcorn?"

Gosalyn looked at her date, only barely disguised in his black jeans, and "Splashing Pumpkins" T beneath a pair of round, wire-rimmed glasses and black baseball cap. "Popcorn?" he asked again – thrusting the bag at her.

"Sure" she giggled, and accepted the bag before demurely consuming a single kernel. She honestly could only barely believe he was getting away with…

"SQUEE!"

Gosalyn winced before looking in the direction of the offending squeal. A much over-excited Lizzy had Gosalyn squarely in her sights, and was approaching fast.

"OhmyGod! OhmyGod!OhmyGod! OH MY GOD!"

Gosalyn reached out quickly and snatched shut Lizzy's beak, then spoke in a coarse whisper. "Quiet! We can't let everyone know he's here!"

"Oh yeah." Lizzy mumbled – her beak still clasped shut. Gosalyn released her, and she took a deep breath before continuing in a whisper herself. "Where is he?"

"Closer than you think. C'mon. We can still get inside. I'll introduce you in the library – no one should be there. But _you have to be quiet, _OK?"

Lizzy smiled, offering up her pinky for a swear. "Promise!"

* * *

"I'm gonna make you squeal like a pig, Can-Can."

"I _am_ a pig. Freakin' M&M."

"Oh. Sorry."

The St. Canard Cannibals, and the Duckburg Marauding Mallards lined up at the 30 yard line, preparing for the next play. It was 3rd down, with 8 to go - the Cannibals had the ball. Tank took his place, and made the calls.

"Down! Calisota! 22! Hu…"

Three leapt from his position, vaulting over the back of his team-mate and slamming into Tank from the air. The two immediately went to the ground – the impact sending Tank's helmet flying. The line of scrimmage immediately burst into action in response – the two teams erupting into a gladiatorial melee as the cheerleaders quickly made for the stands.

The crowd began chanting "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

Gosalyn turned to her companion – who had joined in on the chant. "Dewey?" She tapped his shoulder to distract him. "Dewey!"

Deuteronomy turned to face Gosalyn, his demeanor quickly turning to calm. "Do you need something? I'd be happy to…"

"No, Dewey. I just need to go 'powder my beak'. I'll be back."

"Oh! OK!" he answered, and returned his attention to the action. The remainder of the teams had joined in from the benches at this point, and Three's brothers had joined him from the stands. "This is going to be good!" he said.

And as the crowds cheered on their favorite team, the referees and admins stood at a loss.

"This is for _humiliating_ me you piece of _drek_! Madoka should have been _mine_!" One, and Two held Tank to the ground as tears began to flow from Three's eyes. "_What gives __you__ the right?_"

Tank looked up – barely able to see through badly swollen eyes. Blood was pouring from cuts on his eyebrows, and trickled from his left ear. Through his good ear, he heard One and Two laughing as Three beat him. Then, he felt a hand around his throat as the world began to fade…

POP! SNAP! P-POP! Arrows flew onto the field, their shafts exploding into tiny, quickly spreading particles. "It's _hot_!" one of the boys exclaimed, forgetting his fight as he ran – rolling across the field.

One by one the boys from both teams stopped fighting and starting scratching, rolling, and dousing themselves with water as Quiverwing continued her less-than-lethal assault – One, Two, and Three among them.

Tank was the only one to remain on the field bloodied, broken, and motionless.

Quiverwing was the first at his side. Checking his pulse, she tapped the button on her earpiece. "9-1-1" She paused. "This is Quiverwing. We're going to need an ambulance on the football field at St. Canard High, stat. Got some serious head, and neck injuries along with cuts, lacerations, some major bruising. Decent amount of blood-loss, too. Subject's breathing, and pulse are erratic, and he's already lost consciousness. I'm transferring you to Principal Evans, now. He's on his way."

Quiverwing stood up, and turned to the Principal. "Take care of him, Mr. Evans." She said, and ran off. Suddenly, she turned backwards. "And don't forget to answer your phone!" she yelled – his phone going off immediately after.

By the time Mr. Evans thought to ask how she knew – she was gone.

* * *

Gosalyn checked the stands, but Dewey had already gone along with the rest of the crowd. They must have been sent home after the incident. She met up with him at the exit to the parking lot.

"You missed it!" he chimed enthusiastically. "Right after you left, Quiverwing came in and broke up the fight. You should have seen her!"

Gosalyn shook her head, and shrugged. "'Gotta go, gotta go', right? Just wasn't meant to be, I guess." Gosalyn looked thoughtful for a moment, and smiled softly – pressing her shoulder against Dewey as she looked up at him – fluttering her emerald green eyes.

"Would you … mind stopping for a milk-shake before taking me home?"

Dewey smiled as Duckworth pulled up to the curb, and opened the Town car door.

"Not a bit! Uh … Not meaning to be unromantic but … do you mind if we get _two_ milk-shakes instead of one?"

Gosalyn laughed – remembering Dewey's uncle. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Authors Notes:

Batman, and all related properties are the property of DC Comics. Batman created by Bob Kane. Darkwing Duck, Duck Tales, and all related properties are the property of Disney Corporation. All here are used without permission.

The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: among them "use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied" (U.S. Copyright Office, Factsheet on fair use of copyrighted works).

It is under such authority I proceed.


	3. Remorse

On Dark Wings, and Dark Knights: Book 2

By: Damien Nathaniel Wren

Chapter 3: "Remorse"

"Binkie said I'd find you here."

Honker – alone in the little known "Water Room" in St. Canard Falls – diverted his attention to the door. Gosalyn stood there peering from behind a curtain of falling water and smiling brightly. Honker smiled weakly in return.

"Hi, Gosalyn."

Gosalyn walked in through the doorway – an intentionally designed part in the rushing falls that comprised 3 walls of the room. A project designed by St. Canard's Public Works, the rear wall of the Water Room was a specially designed waterfall which cascaded over various large gears, and broken clockworks arranged into abstract patterns until falling into a large reflecting pool.

Honker himself was in the seating area – a series of rocks cut so as to have flattened tops spaced neatly but irregularly atop granite floors. A strategic mix of red, blue, and green Tungsten lights worked hand-in-hand in the room with ultra-violet lamps – highlighting an array of impurities in the stones and accenting the otherwise dull materials.

Gosalyn had never been here before, and was carefully taking it all in as she entered.

"I heard you're taking Tank's situation pretty hard."

Honker shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Uhm… yeah. It's… It's difficult."

"Feh." Gosalyn mocked. "It's what happens when rivalries get taken too seriously." Gosalyn took a moment, placing her pack carefully on the ground as she sat – sharing a stone with Honker.

Honker – sensing her warmth, and the softness of her feathers – felt his pulse pick up a bit. His mind spun. As Gosalyn continued speaking to him he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath – inhaling her scent. He was _not_ going to let panic set in.

"Coach Bison reported an incident in the locker room before the game. Tank took the whole 'M&M' thing a bit too far – basically took a shot at Three's manhood. Cut him pretty deep from the sound of it. Even in St. Canard, we all know Three's reputation – _never-mind_ that he's from one of the most notorious crime families to ever grace Duckburg _or_ St. Canard.

"And this doesn't even cover the fact that he should have_ known_ One, and Two would join in the fray if anything went south. The three of them are inseparable."

Honker cast his eyes downwards – his expression pained. "Yeah … He didn't ..." Honker sighed. "He didn't think of that I guess." Honker looked Gosalyn in the eye, suddenly blurting excitedly. "But he didn't! He …"

Gosalyn interrupted. "He didn't deserve it. We all know that. But his injuries weren't serious – he'll be back in action in no time. And thanks to a little help from Quiverwing, Three and his brothers – for the time being – are enjoying a 30 day siesta in Hacienda Juvie. All compliments of the state of Calisota."

Honker watched as Gosalyn stood up, and stretched. Today was one of the rare days she wore her trademark purple sports jersey – except now it hugged snugly against her form, revealing every delicate curve as it flowed down over a pair of black, straight-legged lo-riders. A sturdy pair of black boots – a pair she wore specifically while riding – completed the ensemble.

As he admired her, Honker – somehow – felt renewed. "Gosalyn? I … I want you to know that I …" he paused.

Gosalyn picked up her pack. "Yes, Honker?"

"Thank you. I … I …" Honker's eyes dropped as his resolve broke before flickering back to meet with Gosalyn's. "I wanted to say Thank you." Honker looked around – insuring no-one was there to overhear. "I'm glad Quiverwing was there to help out. Thanks."

Gosalyn smiled a warm smile, hugging Honker tight before walking to the door. She turned back to face him just before leaving. "Take care, Honker." she said, and was gone.

Honker looked down at the floor – mumbling unenthusiastically. "I'll do that."

-=]+[=-

"Yeah, yep, yep, yep, yep." Drake sat back in his seat – stretching his arms above his head. It was dinnertime in the Mallard household, and Morgana was manning the kitchen. Although Drake didn't agree with everything Morgana put on the menu, tonight's meal was one of his favorites.

"Hi, Dad!" Gosalyn rushed through the front door, taking a quick detour to kiss her father hello before rushing off. "I'll wash up and be right back!"

Drake smiled. "_That's_ my girl…"

Morgana placed an empty plate in front of Drake as she began setting the table – the other two plates clunking softly against the clothed dining table surface as she spoke. "You know she reminds me of someone else more – and more every day."

Drake sighed. "I know, I know. I just wished there were some things she _didn't_ emulate."

"Like Quiverwing?"

Drake's eyes rolled as he recoiled from the thought, then shifted directly to Morgana. "Exactly."

"You knew that her following in your footsteps would be inevitable from the day she first dressed up as the Crimson Quackette." Morgana couldn't help but smile. "She was so cute in her little 'Darkwing' outfit!"

Drake took in a breath and let it out in a resigned sigh. "I know, I know. There really wasn't anything I could do, was there?"

Morgana smiled. "You provided an excellent example for her to follow, and got her to wait until she was old enough to start taking on these challenges on her own."

"Feh!" Morgana looked at Drake. "Excellent example my..." He interrupted himself. "_I_ was _not_ an excellent example. For one thing, I nearly ..."

Morgana interrupted him – her voice stern. "_You_ _created_ a much safer St. Canard for your little girl to play hero in is what you did. It doesn't matter _how_ – not anymore. All that matters is that you _succeeded_."

Drake shrugged. "I guess."

Morgana had rounded the table now, kissing Drake on the head. "You really _are_ a wonderful father. Now … Gosalyn will be back any second. _Do_ try to smile for her."

Drake chuckled at her comment – his smile automatic. Gosalyn rounded the corner almost immediately after.

"Hey Morgana! Sorry I'm a little late."

As Morgana turned her soft green eyes met with Gosalyn's – her smile warm, and familiar. "I didn't even notice. Now have a seat. I'll be serving dinner shortly."

"Yes, Ma'am!"

-=]+[=-

"Morgana?"

"Yes, Gosalyn?"

Morgana and Gosalyn were taking time for an evening walk at the local park – something Morgana had suggested. Drake, and Launchpad had left almost an hour ago for The Tower – also at her suggestion. Intuition said Gosalyn needed some "girl time", and she figured this was the best way.

"I … I'm worried about Honker."

"You care about him a lot, don't you?"

"Well, yeah! He's been my best friend since I was nine!"

Morgana looked down at Gosalyn, gently shaking her head. "That's not what I meant."

Gosalyn felt her cheeks flush. "Oh."

"I'm sure Dewey's a nice guy, but I'm sure you know he's not the one. So the question is: What's _really_ stopping you?"

"Well... Honker's kinda timid. I mean, he's just too nice!"

"You mean he's a wuss."

Gosalyn sunk her head between her shoulders as she mumbled her reply. "Well, sort-of."

Morgana remained gentle. "You know that's not true, Gosalyn. You've seen him in action – we all have. When the chips are down, you can always depend on Honker to come through _whatever_ it is he's facing."

"Then why can't he just … I dunno … ask me out?"

"He wants you to be happy – even if it's without him. Maybe he believes you wouldn't really be interested. You _are_ friends, after all. Maybe he's just not that good with girls. How many women have you seen him asking out?"

Gosalyn thought for a moment. "Well … none. But..."

"I hate to say it, but 'practice makes perfect' – especially when it comes to asking a girl out. The smoother, and more confident a guy is the more he's practiced. And let's face it: Honker's just _not_ practicing."

Gosalyn sighed. "I guess he's not."

Morgana smiled. "Need three guesses why, or will the first be enough?"

Gosalyn looked up at Morgana – half smiling, half grimacing from the truth. She knows the way he looks at her all too well after all – and not just anybody could stand tall against the agents of F.O.W.L. like Honker did, _much_ _less_ run their own corporation.

"I still wish he'd _at least_ stand up to Tank."

Morgana smiled. "Keep encouraging him. He'll get there. Meanwhile, at least think about talking to him? The guy doesn't _always_ have to make the first move, you know." Morgana giggled – attempting to change the mood a bit. "Besides, he's got ten times more money than Dewey does any day."

Gosalyn rolled her eyes as she leaned towards Morgana – giving her a gentle shove with her shoulder. "Morgana!"

"I know, I know." Morgana smiled. "So … have you heard about Uncle Nero's fiddle?"

-=]+[=-

Authors Notes:

Batman, and all related properties are the property of DC Comics. Batman created by Bob Kane. Darkwing Duck, Duck Tales, and all related properties are the property of Disney Corporation. All here are used without permission.

The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: among them "use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied" (U.S. Copyright Office, Factsheet on fair use of copyrighted works).

It is under such authority I proceed.


	4. Respect

**On Dark Wings, and Dark Knights: Book 2  
**

By: Damien Nathaniel Wren

Chapter 4: Respect

One week.

That's how long had passed since Tank had been admitted to the hospital for his injuries – the length of time it took for the doctor's to release him, and allow him to come home. Bandages wrapped his head – covering the damaged ear – and one of his arms was temporarily immobilized to help his shoulder heal. The swelling that had contorted his face was mostly gone.

It would be another week before he attended school again.

Tank smiled – presenting his fist. "Hey, Bonkers!"

Honker looked tentatively at the fist as he approached Tank, then made a fist himself and tapped it against Tank's. "How's it goin' big bro?"

"You know, Bonkers … I was thinking." Tank adjusted himself in the bed – sat up a little higher. He took in a deep breath, pausing – as if dramatically or to make a point – before continuing. "I mean … it was something about Three …"

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno. It was something about the way he moved … what he said. What I think he said, anyways. Honestly?" Tank smiled, chuckling under his breath. "I'm pretty convinced now Three and I should exchange names."

Honker smiled – chuckling himself.

"But that's not what I'm talking about. I had a lot of time to think laying in the hospital. I relived the fight more times than I can count and … and … I dunno … I just keep thinking of _you_ for some reason. Somehow I kept seeing you up there instead of Three. Like I said, something about the way he moved maybe … I'm not sure."

Honker held his breath as Tank reached over to his nightstand and poured himself a drink of water. He looked to Honker. "I have an extra glass if you want a drink."

"No, no." Honker shook his head. "I'm fine."

Tank nodded. "I guess what I'm saying is: I'm sorry."

Honker started, his eyes grew large as he stared at Tank in disbelief.

Tank laughed. "You can pick your chin up off the floor now." He paused. "You know… Madoka did bring you up while I was showing her around the school. You should probably talk to her."

Honker looked at Tank suspiciously. "You made a fool of me."

"That was mainly for _your_ benefit. Madoka thought you were cute." Tank shrugged as he took a sip of water – a smirk on his face. "Women. Go figure, right?" Tank took another drink. "Here. I had Mom pick this up for you on the way home from the hospital."

Tank reached into the drawer of his nightstand, and produced a book which he tossed to Honker. "'Weightlifting: Self-Taught' It's the book I got started with a few years ago. Give it a few weeks – see what you think."

-=]+[=-

"Not now, Gearloose! I'm a little busy!"

KSSSHHH! …

WHUMP!

"UNPH!" Quiverwing grimaced from the pain of impact – her having fallen one-and-a-half stories to a not-so-soft landing on reinforced concrete blocks.

"This isn't exactly going according to pla-an!" Quiverwing sung as she rose. Being slammed through a plate-glass window was never what she considered "Fun" – and this was the second one she'd been through tonight.

Gyro broke in on her comm. "When do you think you'll have a moment?"

Quiverwing watched eyes wide as the Alligator flew threw the window after her – descending upon her in a complete rage.

"QUIVERWING! I'm gonna suck the marrow from your bones!"

"Where are these _freaks_ coming from?" Quiverwing quipped – rolling to one side. She quickly knocked an arrow as she rose to her feet.

"What freaks?" replied Gyro.

"Not now!" she said, and leveled her arrow at her assailant.

"I think it's time you calmed down … whoever you are! Besides, you have really bad breath, _and I swear if I have to smell it one more time I'll puke!_"

"Bad breath?" She heard Gyro breathing off-mike. "How can you smell my breath?"

Quiverwing rolled her eyes.

The Gator took an offensive stance, charging as he let out a deafening roar. Taking a deep breath, Quiverwing closed her eyes, and let go of the arrow as she exhaled.

**Ppphht … KTHOOM!** The concussive arrowhead exploded on impact – knocking The Gator back several feet and on his arse. Rolling to one side, he grabbed at the impact point, grunting painfully.

Quiverwing rushed up to him, grabbing his hands and cuffing them behind his back before he could think to recover. She repeated the process – using a plastic tie for the ankles. "You might wanna get that checked out. Arrow likely broke a few ribs."

"Ribs!"

Quiverwing sighed. "Never-mind, Gearloose. Whatcha got?"

"I have some information that came from Three's de-lousing a few hours ago. It seems they found a computer chip of some sort embedded in his neck – hidden under his fur. He passed out when they removed it so they don't have any answers, but I have managed a preliminary analysis."

Quiverwing headed towards the Firefly – sirens sounding in the distance as she continued the call. "A preliminary analysis which returned…"

"Oh! A preliminary analysis revealed a circuit on the chip similar in ways to the 'Cybernetic Interface Device' designed by Herbert Muddlefoot. There are some very important differences though…"

"Differences?" Quiverwing asked.

Undaunted, Gyro continued. "Have there been any thefts at Muddletech, lately?"

"Not that I know of. But Honker's design is all over the place – even readily available in any toy store. _Anyone_ could have duplicated or altered his work."

"Honker?"

Quiverwing slammed her palm to her forehead. "Herbert! I meant Herbert."

"Hmmnnn… Well, the design _is_ readily available…" Gyro paused – as if in thought. "I'll keep working. I just wanted to make sure you, and Gizmoduck were aware of the situation – and that Three may not have been acting on his own recognizance."

Quiverwing threw a leg over the Firefly, and kicked up the stand – her own CID delivering a pleasant, warm sensation to the back of her neck as it issued an "engine start" command to the motorcycle's computer. A whisper-quiet rush of ionized air confirmed its success.

"Keep me advised." She said – and was off.

-=]+[=-

It was midnight – and raining.

The shushed sound of the Firefly's specialized tires contacting the glistening streets of St. Canard accompanied the quiet whisper of the Firefly's engine as Quiverwing's limbs slowly grew numb from the exposure. Her close encounters with the shop windows that evening had left her with a number of lacerations, and enough blood loss to make her sleepy.

Quiverwing shook her head. "No" she told herself. "I _have_ to push."

Still 15 minutes away, she was fully across town from The Audobon Bridge (and farther from home) when Gearloose reached her, and she hadn't anticipated the battle going into overtime.

In fact, she hadn't anticipated the _battle_ at all.

It didn't matter, though. However hard it tried, the weather wasn't going to beat her. Her mind was still sharp – she'd get over the blood loss. Her wounds had – mostly – closed. And her Dad taught her the secret – the ability to work through pain. She stayed focused.

She stayed focused on the ramifications of what Gearloose was telling her. Three was a force to be reckoned with – and to get that chip on his neck meant working up-close-and-personal. Tagging Three like that took some _real_ cojones.

She didn't want to imagine who might be next on the list.

-=]+[=-

"Yeah! GO BONKERS!"

A ring of Sophomores, Juniors, and Seniors surrounded Bo as he flung himself headlong at his opponent delivering a series of devastating punches. Punches that never seemed to connect.

Honker stood there calmly as he watched Bo's mounting frustration, and smiled.

Bo came in for another attack – a body-blow. Honker waited his time, and ducked – stepping to the right and snatching Bo's ankle upwards. Bo landed face-down in the dirt.

"Yay! Honker!"

Honker turned to Madoka, allowing himself a smile and a bow before suddenly stepping backwards – avoiding Bo's attempted kick to Honker's bowed head.

"Ya freakin' SHOWOFF!"

Honker dodged under Bo's wildly telegraphed hay-maker, jabbing his outstretched thumb and forefinger into Bo's exposed throat before grabbing hold of Bo's shirt and spinning himself under Bo's arm – driving him headfirst into the ground, and on his back.

Bo began to see red – enraged at Honker's success. Honker was supposed to be the wuss – not _him_. But as much as he picked on Honker, he never _picked a fight_ with him before. He never figured Honker would actually defend himself.

He never figured Honker would actually _win_.

Honker backed away – sensing Bo's enraged state. Having hit his hip wrong during the fall, Bo had a little difficulty standing, and winced when on his feet – probably a strained tendon in his foot, or ankle from when Honker snatched him down earlier. Bo's eyes were angry, and unsettling … eyes that looked _through_ him instead of at him.

Finally – Honker thought – Bo was taking him seriously.

Honker reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pen-like device – still carefully watching as Bo prepared to attack. They jockeyed for position, Honker finally catching on to Bo's game.

Honker spun and thrusted his palm directly upwards and into the snout of a gang member before he was able to hold Honker down for Bo's attack, then stepped forward a safe distance from the crowd.

Bo snorted, and charged madly – blindly forward as Honker simply stood his ground, and waited. At the absolute last moment Honker leapt upwards, leap-frogging off of Bo's upper back and calmly landing in the circle as Bo drove a tusk into one of the St. Canard Cannibals, and passed out.

Honker walked over and gently shook the unconscious pig with his foot. He looked back into the crowd, now gathered mostly in awe – but a few in horror. Honker decided to belay their concerns.

"Don't worry" he said "Bo will be fine in the morning."

Madoka squealed with delight as she ran to Honker's side, kissing him on the cheek before hugging him tight, and clutching his right arm – following him as he walked.

Honker smiled – enjoying his victory – before laughing. "It does seem I might have broke him, though. Pity."

-=]+[=-

Authors Notes:

Batman, and all related properties are the property of DC Comics. Batman created by Bob Kane. Darkwing Duck, Duck Tales, and all related properties are the property of Disney Corporation. All here are used without permission.

The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: among them "use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied" (U.S. Copyright Office, Factsheet on fair use of copyrighted works).

It is under such authority I proceed.


	5. Constriction

**On Dark Wings, and Dark Knights: Book 2  
**

By: Damien Nathaniel Wren

Chapter 5: Constriction

-=]+[=-

Thirsty…

Bo reached for a bottle of water as he, and his wheel-man pulled up to the corner branch of the St. Canard Bank. It was a small bank – and this branch was smaller still. Yet his throat, and mouth were dry and he could feel the sweat on his palms.

Worse still? He couldn't figure out for the life of him why he was doing this.

The wheel-man put his hand to Bo's shoulder. "C'mon, man. Take it easy! It's all in there – and ain't nothin' there but easy pickin's."

Bo threw him a sharp look. "Remember, we've got just under three minutes before Quiverwing responds. SCPD will need four. I get in, hit the teller, get out – and you make us a nice, easy getaway. 50/50 take once we're clear."

Smiling, the wheel-man put his hands back to the wheel. "I gotcha, I gotcha. Timer's runnin' now – like my engine. Let's do this!"

-=]+[=-

"Alright, son. Tell me what happened."

Three sat in an all-too-familiar interrogation room with two detectives, and a uniform. No doubt there were additional officers watching from behind the 2-way mirror. Three smiled.

"I've been out for over two weeks?"

The uniform chuckled.

"We've got that part. What about the football game."

Three's face became quizzical … puzzled. "Football game? _What_ football game? Don't tell me I missed the game against the Can-Cans!"

"The game is why you're here, Three. Don't remember a thing, do ya?"

Three shook his head slowly as the two detectives looked doubtfully at one another. They didn't trust him – it's not like Three ever gave them reason to.

"What's the last thing you remember, Three?"

Three's expression strained a little. "It's still kinda hazy but … I remember a knock … a knock at the door."

"Go on."

"There was a knock at the door, and some messanger waiting when I answered. Said he was carrying a message, or package for me."

"Which was…"

"Well, that's just it. He didn't have one. As soon as I said who I was he jumped me. Next thing I know, I'm in the hospital under Police Custody."

-=]+[=-

Bo howled in delight as he and his wheel-man made it to the outskirts of St. Canard with neither the SCPD or Quiverwing in tow. "YEAH!"

He, and the wheel-man celebrated with a high-five.

The wheel-man rubbed his palms together, anxious as the sun began to slowly dip below the horizon. They'd reached the drop point – and Bo's car – without incident. He smiled delightedly. "The goodies are comin', the goodies are comin'!"

Bo stared out into the field besides them - his face filled with dread. "The _hell_ is that?"

The wheel-man – picking up on Bo's sudden change of demeanor – turned away from Bo to get a quick look. As quick as his head was turned, he heard the sound of a button snapping followed by metal sliding against freshly oiled leather.

The wheel-man's heart nearly stopped as his synapses began firing at near inhuman speeds. His eyes grew wide as he began to turn his head back towards Bo – the smell of gun-oil whipping its way through his nostrils.

**BLAM!**

-=]+[=-

Cindy laughed. "Now that's one 'whale of a tale' for the grand-kids. Wonder what inspired the Calisota D.O.T. dynamite solution..."

"Who can be sure?" Mal replied. "I'm just glad I wasn't at the beach during the blast."

"Amen to that!" Cindy said – still laughing. Calming herself, she turned back to the camera – glancing briefly down at her notes before continuing.

_"… And in other news this morning Police in both Duckburg and St. Canard remain baffled by an ongoing rash of high-precision robberies plaguing the two cities – each of which appearing to be carried out by a completely different group of people despite their identical, almost clockwork modus operandi. Cindy looked to her fellow newscaster. Mal..."_

Tapping his notes on the desk, the newscaster cleared his voice.

_"First appearing in St. Canard just over a week ago the motley, ever-changing group of bandits has committed 3 successful bank robberies, and their pattern suggests there's a fourth underway. Through precision timing and expert planning each of the robberies has been committed both successfully, and in record time – meaning the entire team completes their work and disappears before local authorities can respond. During a press-conference early this morning a representative for the Duck County Sheriff's Office had this to say."_

The scene switched from the newsroom to a park on the edge of St. Canard – police crews working feverishly to collect the evidence, and clean up the scene. An abandoned car with crimson-splattered windows could only barely be seen in the background.

_"It's obvious that whoever these teams are they're being recruited, and trained by a single mastermind, and considered highly expendable. The fact that he … whoever-it-is has been able to essentially duplicate the crime using entirely new groups of people at least proves that much. Since the specific individuals involved in each crime continually changes however the crimes themselves have a tendency of robbing the local forces of suspects, and leading them to a very frustrating series of dead-ends. _

_"We are devoting every possible resource to solving these crimes including consulting with minds such as Ludwig Von Drake and Gyro Gearloose, and we've made several fevered attempts at contacting not only Gizmoduck and Quiverwing, but PK as well.  
_  
_"It's a matter of very little time before the mastermind behind these crimes is tracked down, and brought to justice._

A brief burst of static echoed off the walls as the TV shut off – a disgruntled Drake Mallard at the other end of the remote control.

Morgana looked down at Drake – concerned. "You _know_ something."

Drake continued staring forward – his forehead wrinkled as he sat deep in thought. "I _suspect_ something."

"You're worried about Gosalyn?"

Drake looked up at Morgana, shook his head. "Gosalyn's the best of the best. I taught her everything she knows!"

Morgana kissed Drake on the forehead. "Yes, Dark. But you still haven't taught her everything _you_ know."

Gosalyn rushed through the room – giving brief hugs to both Drake, and Morgana.

"Hey Dad! Hey Mom! I'm heading to school now. See you tonight!" she said, and was out the door.

Drake looked to Morgana. "Is it me, or did she just call you 'Mom'?"

-=]+[=-

"Hey, Gosalyn!"

"Honker!" Gosalyn opened the garage door to find Honker sitting in wait in a brand new luxury convertible – a roadster with a definite attitude.

"Wanna go for a ride?"

Gosalyn looked at Honker – it had been several weeks since they had a chance to speak and there was no mystery why. He had increased his muscle mass enough to be noticeable – probably from more than a few hours working out at the Gym. And that wasn't the only thing that changed. His manner was much more smooth. He almost literally dripped with confidence, and appeal.

She _liked_ it.

Smiling, Gosalyn took a step towards the car – but stopped herself. "It would be better if you drove Madoka to school, wouldn't it?"

Honker laughed it off. "Call her … 'a confused girl with whom I've been erroneously linked.'" Reaching across the roadster, Honker opened the door for Gosalyn – repeating his invitation. "C'mon, get in!"

Gosalyn stepped back, unsure. "That's OK. I'm … I've got business tonight at the Tower immediately after school. See you tomorrow?"

Honker shrugged – closing the door. "Your loss." Turning to Gosalyn now, he winked. We'll catch up, though."

Turning the key, Honker started the car – gunning the engine before replacing his seat-belt. A wide grin crossed his face.

Gosalyn waved. "See ya, Honker."

Honker raised his hand in a parting gesture. "Hasta!" he replied – and squealed off.

-=]+[=-

"Dad! Launchpad! Keep it down!"

Quiverwing had stepped up to the comm at the Tower on the Audobon Bay Bridge which she had inherited from Darkwing. It didn't stop Drake and Launchpad from hanging out occasionally and causing a rucous.

"OK, Gearloose. Talk to me."

"I've completed analysis on the chip I was given. It communicates via local, open Wi-Fi channels effectively extending its range indefinitely – especially in areas like Duckburg, and St. Canard that provide free, city-wide Wi-Fi to their residents."

"Noted."

"It's ultimately an amplified version of Muddlefoot's design except with a receiver that sets up a sort-of sympathetic vibration within the wearer's nervous system – effectively taking control of them."

"So Three wasn't responsible for what happened that night?"

"Very likely not, I'm afraid. Although more subtle, there are effects on the person controlling the circuit, too. Remember I said it set up a sympathetic vibration in the nervous system?"

"Yeah…"

"That connection actually goes two ways. Even though it's not intense enough to provide a controlling level of feedback from the wearer, whoever placed the chip on Three likely has been influenced by Three's personality, and thought patterns."

"In English?"

"The person controlling the chip will slowly take on the personalities of whoever is wearing the receiver. The longer they're connected…"

"The stronger the influence." Quiverwing sighed. "Gotcha. Is there any way to shut these chips down without throwing the victims into a coma?"

"Overload the nervous system, you overload the chip."

Quiverwing smiled. "As in Stun-Gun."

"As in Stun-Gun." Gearloose smiled back. "Not the most comfortable solution in the world, but it's a near-instant recovery."

"Gearloose, I could kiss you!" Quiverwing said, and hugged the monitor before dropping the call.

"Launchpad? Could you help me out with something?"

-=]+[=-

Authors Notes:

Batman, and all related properties are the property of DC Comics. Batman created by Bob Kane. Darkwing Duck, Duck Tales, and all related properties are the property of Disney Corporation. Donald Duck, Paperinik, and "PK" are also property Disney Corporation. All here are used without permission.

The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: among them "use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied" (U.S. Copyright Office, Factsheet on fair use of copyrighted works).

It is under such authority I proceed.


	6. Resolution

**On Dark Wings, and Dark Knights: Book 2  
**

By: Damien Nathaniel Wren

Chapter 6: Resolution

-=]+[=-

_Author's Notes: I've opened a poll on my FanFiction profile asking if readers would be interested in reading additional stories involving Quiverwing – most likely in the format of a weekly serial. Make sure that – if you're interested – you vote yes! The poll will be closing on August 1, 2010._

-=]+[=-

Drake sunk into the comfortable, leather chair set in front of the bank of computers that ran in the Tower of the Audobon Bay Bridge – and kicked up his feet. As Launchpad glanced up from working on the Thunderquack he saw the very essence of calm – but a torrent of anxiety and emotion broiled below Drake's bravado, and he knew it.

Having retrieved his old hat from storage, Drake placed it on his head, and tilted it down over his eyes before folding his hands over his chest, and waiting. "What's the word, LP? She gonna be ready in time?"

"Yeah, DW. In fact, she's ready to go, now. I'm just cleaning her up a bit." Launchpad again turned his attention to his old friend – and hero. He didn't know exactly what was on Drake's mind, but he knew it involved Gosalyn – and that to him nothing was more important.

"Hey uh… DW? You need anything while we're waiting?"

"No, LP. I'll be …"

Drake interrupted himself as a soft bell rang – signifying an incoming signal. Drake sprang into action – giving the command to intercept and send to main monitor.

-=]+[=-

Quiverwing tapped her earpiece. "Talk to me."

Dewey's familiar voice broke in over the banshee wail of the Firefly's tires against brushed concrete. "Quiverwing?"

Quiverwing's eyes grew wide – her surprise apparent in her voice. "Dew… Deutoronomy Duck? Of the Splashing Pumpkins?" She closed her eyes – muting the microphone as she regained composure. "How can I help?"

Dewey replied – his shock from being known apparent. "Don't tell me you're a fan?"

"Get to it, Dewey."

"Oh! Gyro asked me to contact you. It turns out there's an entire network of these CID things out there. He showed me how to trace the source, and said you could use my help."

Quiverwing breathed a sigh of relief. "So whatcha got for me?"

"What I _don't_ have is the server's location – not yet. But I have found a number of active _clients_ operating right now at Muddletech."

Quiverwing torqued the throttle. "I'm on my way."

-=]+[=-

Quiverwing hid the Firefly, then inspected the site - watching carefully as the Muddletech security patrols covered the front of the building. She noted a significant problem: Those _weren't_ Muddletech guards.

"Quiverwing?"

Still out of sight, Quiverwing replied in hushed tones. "Watcha got, Dewey?"

"I've located the server. You're not going to believe this…"

"It's in Muddletech?"

Dewey was taken aback. "Yeah! How did you …"

"I've already checked the site and it looks like someone gave the guards the night off. Do you have a specific location for the server?"

"Not yet – but I _have_ hacked into their security cameras."

"Good one! Keep working on finding the server. I'm heading in."

-=]+[=-

Quiverwing whispered softly while hidden in the shadows of the Muddletech Lobby – the nearest goon to her rocking ever-so-slightly to the beat of his music player.

"Dewey? You there?"

"Yeah."

"What do you see?"

"You've got seven guys. Two are on either side of your position. Three are within 30 feet of you – you should be able to see them, now. One is stationed behind them, and one more is at the Lobby's South end – out of reach. Get this: He's admiring his shotgun."

"Time me."

"Huh!"

**FWHAP! "G'UNF!"**

Quiverwing leapt from the shadows – forcing the barrel of the shotgun up into its wielder's face and rendering him unconscious. Snatching the gun away, she jabbed the barrel backwards and into the stomach of a rushing mook, then spun – **CRACK! **– using the barrel to knock the prostrated goon in the head.

Acting quickly, she locked arms with the goon and rolled over his back – throwing him into an oncoming rush of three large dogs before knocking a concussion arrow and firing it into the shoulder of a fourth.

Turning quickly, she knocked another arrow – this one with a small triangular tip – as a mook pulled back the stock on his shotgun. As he took aim she fired – ramming the arrow up the barrel of the shotgun as he pulled the trigger causing the gun to blow up in his face.

She then pulled three small single-pointed shuriken from her forearm guard – tossing them behind her – one piercing the shoulders of each of the three dogs she knocked down. They went promptly to sleep.

"How'd I do?" Quiverwing asked – Dewey blasting in excitedly over her earpiece.

"You took out all 7 in just under 4 seconds!"

Quiverwing smiled. "I can do bettah."

"Sweet!" Dewey celebrated. "I found the server! Is there an elevator nearby? One that's not public access."

Quiverwing looked around – quickly sighting it. "Yeah. That looks like it ahead."

"Good. I'll see if I can't open the doors for you." Dewey confirmed. "You want to take that elevator down 3 levels – that's where you'll locate the server…"

"…and whoever it is controlling these mooks." Quiverwing finished, taking to a sprint.

A ringing sound followed began echoing through the stone-and-glass lobby followed by a deafening CRLANK! Unable to stop in time, Quiverwing slammed into a set of sturdy, wrought-iron bars and fell backwards.

Quiverwing rubbed her head. A large cage had been dropped on her from above. A series of 8 clanks fired off in rapid-succession as the floor beneath her latched onto the bars, and the cage began to lift above ground.

Dewey piped in over her earpiece. "Uh-oh. That's not good."

Quiverwing sighed as she rolled her eyes. "And so says Deutoronomy, Master of all that is Obvious, and Mundane."

All Quiverwing heard in reply was "Thhlbpt!"

"QUIVERWING!"

She looked down – spotting the alligator she'd fought in the not-so-distant past as more Dobermen, and Bulldogs rushed into the room. She had no idea the alligator was a part of this – nevermind that he was out already.

He stepped forward to present himself – bowing graciously. "Greetin's, cher. Name's Beaux-Beaux. Glad you could make it to our little Ball."

The mooks snickered.

"Now just thought I'd be sayin' – that day gonna come an' I _will_ be feastin' on y'all bones! But _not_ today, cher. My employer? He ain't gon' like that much.

"So be a good little cher and in three hours we'll be long gone, and the morning crew gonna find you right there all gift-wrapped and pretty to let ya down."

Beaux-Beaux's demeanor shifted suddenly – much darker, and less congenial.

"But now I wouldn't try them weapons. There are four snipers sittin' hidden – each one I guarantee's got a perfectly clear shot to your pretty little head. You so much as touch an arrow in your quiver and … well … let's just not talk about it."

Beaux-Beaux turned around promptly on his heel – walking towards the elevator. "Now … Laissez le Bon temp rouler!"

The mooks cheered as they assumed their various positions around the floor – guarding Quiverwing as the remainder of the crew finished the heist. Quiverwing stood feeling helpless a moment before sitting quietly in a lotus.

Pffffff-THUP!

Quiverwing's head snapped to the source of the sound - an arrow having lodged itself into the floor of her cage. A purple bow was tied to the base of the arrowhead along with a pair of ear plugs. Quickly she put them on. Immediately after a skateboard with a box of some sort on top of it rolled into the room.

One of the mooks walked up to it, kicking it lightly with his foot. "The heck is tha…"

Ear-splitting, high-decibel klaxons echoed through the marbled halls as a series of small, grey canisters began rolling into the room and belching copious amounts of a familiar, purple-tinted smoke. A series of barely-heard "thwips" sounded as lights were shot out and – in the confusion below – Quiverwing could swear she caught glimpses of a so-very-familiar hat, and cape.

Quiverwing couldn't help but grin.

SMACK! POW! OOMPH! A gunshot went off – the muzzle flash again revealing a familiar silhouette in the darkness. "My knee! He shot my freakin' knee!" one mook complained as Quiverwing's cage tremored.

She realized she was being lowered back to the ground.

The crunch of bone and snap of sinew accompanied the painful screams of 2 more of The Gator's mooks, accompanied by 2 final shotgun blasts and the sound of shattering glass.

The bars to Quiverwing's cage raised – the floor already disengaged from her former prison. The smoke was already disappating. Removing the earplugs her ears were greeted by an unnerving silence as she looked around to find each of the mooks brought in to guard her in her gilded cage lying passed out on the floor…

Wait … all of them except

Beaux-Beaux's tail came out of nowhere – slamming her in the chest, and _into_ a nearby pillar. Quiverwing's eyes bulged as she attempted to regain her breath – her body falling listlessly to the ground. Pushing off the ground a little she coughed – blood spattering the floor as she did so.

Dewey – hearing the commotion – broke in on her earpiece "Quiverwing? Are you OK?"

She looked back to her assailant charging full speed ahead. He leapt in the air – spinning to smash her once more with his tail. Desperate, she rolled out of the way and knocked another concussion arrow. As Beaux-Beaux regained his balance – she fired.

**Ppphhth … KTHOOM!**

Beaux-Beaux looked down at the arrow's impact point, his crocodilish grin growing wider still. "Now you don't think ol' Beaux-Beaux's gonna fall for that again, cher – do ya?"

Beaux-Beaux tore off his shirt – revealing a quality vest of form-fitting kevlar armor. Exploding into action, he utilized an almost unnatural speed as he charged Quiverwing's position – body slamming her into a wall.

Still unable to catch her breath, Quiverwing grimaced as portions of her rib-cage splintered under the force of the blow.

"You see? Ol' Beaux-Beaux he learn from _his_ mistakes." Beaux-Beaux lifted Quiverwing one-handedly – flinging her through a large, plate-glass fountain near the entrance as he continued his monologue.

"Quiverwing? Not so much I think."

Beaux-Beaux moved casually now – taking his time as he savored his upcoming victory over Quiverwing. His employer would be angry, but of no consequence – it had to be done. As long as he got what he came for, he should be happy with it.

"Quiverwing? Quiverwing?" Dewey broke in again. "He's chipped! I can see the modified CID on the security monitor!"

Quiverwing remained silent.

"QUIVERWING!"

Beaux-Beaux stared at the smashed fountain – admiring his work. A series of three broken glass plates sat atop a modern, industrial sculpture – ruptured, and twisted PVC tendrils belching globules of water across a scattered array of razor-sharp shards as broken, and frayed electrical wiring criss-crossed the damaged areas.

He ran his finger across the top of the tallest plate – the flowing, crimson ribbons calling to his predatorial nature. Smiling, he took time to take in the scent of Quiverwing's blood as it dripped over the fountain. Placing his thick, stubby finger into his mouth, he delighted at the taste.

He smiled. "Look like ol' Beaux-Beaux gonna be eatin' good tonight!"

Beaux-Beaux twitched as electricity suddenly surged through his body – Quiverwing knocking another arrow. Beaux-Beaux's expression turned hard, merciless.

Beaux-Beaux struggled – affected by the shock but maintaining control. "Don't think this do nothin' but tickle ol' Beaux-Beaux, cher."

"I don't." she said and fired another arrow into him – increasing the charge. Beaux-Beaux stumbled forward into the fountain and began yowling in pain as the building lights temporarily dimmed.

Once the circuit breakers kicked in and the lights came back on Beaux-Beaux remained lying motionless in the fountain except for his heaving chest.

Quiverwing turned her attention to the elevator door and took a deep breath. "Dewey…"

"I'm on it!"

Focusing her mind away from the pain she took off running – the doors to the elevator opening as she approached.

"By the way: That shock sent a huge spike through the networked CIDs just before the entire network went quiet. SysOp probably wishes he stayed in bed."

Quiverwing dodged to one side of the elevator door just-in-case before entering. Hitting the threshold, she stopped abruptly.

"Honker… NO!"

Quiverwing knelt down besides Honker as he lay still on the floor of the elevator and checked his pulse – unable to take her eyes off of the scorched flesh, and feathers surrounding the burned-out CID chip he had implanted.

Turning him over she stared into Honker's peaceful expression – his chest rising and falling gently as his heart carried on its usual duties. Quiverwing hugged him.

"I'm so happy you're alright!" she said, and burst into tears – then slapped him. "HOW COULD YOU…?"

Honker awoke, smiling weakly up at Quiverwing as the SCPD finally arrived – promptly locating the two. "I tried to escape. I … I'm sorry. I didn't want you to know."

Honker reached up, gently wiping a tear from Quiverwing's eye. "You look like crap. You know that?"

Quiverwing - surprised by Honker's comment - chuckled despite her tears.

Honker managed another weak smile - sadness in his eyes. "I guess this means we won't be able to go to Prom together."

Quiverwing shook her head as she gently lay Honker down, then stood and composed herself – the SCPD rushing in to apprehend him.

"No, Honker. I don't think we will be."

_fin._

-=]+[=-

Authors Notes:

Batman, and all related properties are the property of DC Comics. Batman created by Bob Kane. Darkwing Duck, Duck Tales, and all related properties are the property of Disney Corporation. Donald Duck, Paperinik, and "PK" are also property Disney Corporation. All here are used without permission.

The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: among them "use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied" (U.S. Copyright Office, Factsheet on fair use of copyrighted works).

It is under such authority I proceed.


End file.
